


what the future holds

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BDSM, Being Walked In On, Bondage, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Breathplay, Choking, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom Keith (Voltron), Implied Shklance, M/M, Open Relationships, Power Dynamics, Riding Crops, Spanking, Sub Lance (Voltron), Suspension, Top Keith (Voltron), open established relationship klance, shiro isn't physically with them or a part of their relationship tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: Keith's always been a stickler for certain rules in his own weird way.Maybe that's why Lance likes it best when he can get him to break them.





	what the future holds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lancegetswrecked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancegetswrecked/gifts).



Suspension is something Lance and Keith have tried about a handful of times, but it’s been a while since the last.

Granted, there wasn't a whole lot of time to explore it out in the depths of space, and seemingly even less once they returned to Earth. The flashback of the last time Lance can recall buzzes around in his head, goose pimples raising on his currently exposed skin as Keith familiarly works the rope—a diplomatic meeting some odd months ago.

Keith dragged him away into a supply closet after a hefty round of drinks. Somehow macgyvered a harness out of random alien materials to bind his chest and arms to his sides, then connected the entire thing to an overhead pipe. Keith pulled his pants down barely enough to fuck his thighs like that, jerking Lance and whispering dirty things into his ear until he felt fit to pass out.

Thank quiznak for the durability of space plumbing.

Lance excitedly rubs his thighs together from the memory alone.

Now on Earth, their sex life hadn’t just dulled, but settled into a screeching halt altogether. Since they saved everyone from the Galra, Keith—in his newfound position as leader of Voltron—was often required to attend important meetings, and became stubbornly resolute in his decision to follow Garrison protocol. This included staying in their assigned dorms at night and refusing to ‘intimately fraternize’ with other officers.

 _It's about respect_ , Keith counters to him whenever Lance complains that they never get to see each other anymore, that those rules don’t even necessarily apply to them. _It's about the decency and precedent I have to uphold as a leader_ , Lance will mock his own words back to him, before he starts pouting.

 _What will they think if they see me leaving your room in the morning, my neck full of all your marks?_ He remembers Keith telling him the second night they arrived and Lance had preemptively tried to crawl into his bed. _What will they think, knowing that we’re fooling around during such a tense time where we might be needed at any moment?_

 _Hopefully_ , Lance retaliated through the grit of his teeth, _that you’re one lucky guy_.

What Keith said—that had always been the case for them, out in space. Lance didn’t understand what exactly made Earth different. He still doesn’t.

But finally, _finally_ —Keith's worked up enough from the stress and leftover adrenaline of the day to let loose on those strict reservations. Or maybe worked up in general from when Lance distractedly spilled some of his canned rations on the front of Keith’s pants earlier, in front of the MFE pilots they were assigned to work with while they were taking their break for lunch. Out of deeply ingrained habit Lance had begun to sink to his knees, wholly prepared to lick him clean, before Keith shoved him away with a growl of his name.

Immediately, Lance was jolted back to the cruel, embarrassing state of reality to blink in the sight of everyone else staring between them, confused as to why Lance looked about to get on one knee to propose to Keith’s soiled crotch. Their faces had burned as they met each other’s gaze. It wasn’t soon after that Keith barked an order at one of the cadets to get the heat off them.

Keith's always been a stickler for certain rules in his own weird way.

Maybe that's why Lance likes it best when he can get him to break them.

“Lance, quit squirming.”

At the directive, Lance pauses from swinging his legs. Stills as best as he can. It’s not easy to keep from wanting to rub his thighs together again, but ultimately, he knows punishment is better sought out through other ways.

Lance isn’t quite used to the stretch yet, though it feels good; the tips of his toes brushing along the tiled floor, wrists clamped in a vice over his head. The weight of both things grounding him somewhere in the middle. The muscles in his arms are burning a pleasant ache that almost drowns out the sound of Keith's low timbre. At the same time, the lack of anything solid to support himself against is making Lance unusually restless.

Eager.

He can tell by the way Keith pauses to admire him all strung up, smile curving up one side of his mouth, that the feeling is likely mutual.

Cinched around Lance's neck is their go-to collar—nondescript, heavy, black. Keith isn't much for investing in intricately decorated things for him, though it's not as if he wouldn’t if Lance asked. He has plenty of fancier toys overflowing in his closet courtesy of Keith’s tendency to spoil him, but he prefers things to begin simply. He’d rather feel like he’s _earned_ the right to be spoiled through pleasing Keith first.

Already well aware of this, Keith picked this one out for him in advance. Nonetheless, quality is never something he scrounges on, and the genuine warmth that comes with the material is already getting Lance hot under the collar.

Literally.

The leather beads an extra ring of sweat against his skin. Keith draws forward and hooks two fingers into the space between, tugging to test the resistance. Not with enough pressure—surely nowhere _near_ enough to choke—which Lance finds disappointing. Still, his pulse races faster as Keith presses briefly against his windpipe, before sliding away like the tease he is.

“I think you could go tighter,” Keith suggests.

There’s no pause for an answer. He only reaches to the buckle at the back of his neck and begins to undo it, tip of his tongue coming to poke out from his lips in concentration. Lance doesn’t dare mention how cute he finds it.

He’s long since learned that his answer, whatever it may be, matters very little to Keith when it comes around to this time at the start of a scene.

Lance tongues at his cheek. Considers his options. His lidded eyes lift from where they’ve fallen to watch Keith drag his tongue across bitten lips, and with a growing smirk, Lance cants his head to him. Where the space handcuffs pinion his arms above his head, he rolls the kink from one wrist, jangling the connected chain to gain Keith's attention.

“You think?” he ventures. Treading in dangerous territory for sure.

It still works. Head snapping to the movement, Keith then glances down to glare at him, eyes narrowing in warning at the obvious snark in his words. Lance can feel his fingertips following on pure muscle memory, lightly tracing the nape of his neck as they adjust the collar to their usual notch for more intense scenes. About three in, give or take—Lance keeps track by the imprints he admires later on his skin.

“Yeah, I _think_ ,” Keith hisses, and then the collar is suddenly squeezing far past that notch, tightening to a dizzying level, “that you need to shut your smart fucking mouth.”  

Reflexively, Lance’s hands ball into fists at the unyielding pressure. The chains clink together as his arms strain wildly against their confines, feet kicking higher in the space where they hang from the ground. It’s barely a second before his lips are parting around a silent moan, choking before he can push proper sound out as the restraint hugs his breath in his chest, then traps it there.

He really could be in danger of passing out this time. And if he did, it wouldn’t be much longer afterward that he could even die.

But his trust in Keith outweighs the risks.

Besides, the general threat is turning him on to an unimaginable level. Keith being in control of not only what happens to him, but his very life being _put into his hands,_ is ironically a freeing feeling. Not that Lance has a death wish, per se. It merely reminds him of their battles in war, that familiar safety and protection that washes over him whenever Keith comes to his rescue or assists him in fending off Galra soldiers.

The evidence of their unbreakable, electrifying bond.

Lance’s natural instincts to live surge and twist and scream inside him. His desire to get off meshes with them oddly, until he isn’t sure if the fluttering in his gut is fear, arousal, or maybe he’s going to lose his fucking lunch.

To the surprise of neither of them, that firm clench around his windpipe has his cock standing to attention, instantly pulsing through the plain blue panties hugging his hips. As Lance struggles to keep his eyes open through the haze that’s fallen over him, he finds that Keith’s gaze is dark and sharp on him, full of heat. His mouth remains curved disapprovingly down, but the lust on his face is all consuming, twining its way right into Lance’s heart.

Things start fading out—fast. The fists Lance was making fall lax. His fingers uselessly twitch as his legs swing away and disappear beneath him, heartbeat a never-ending drone in his ears.

Then it’s fading to a dial tone.

Thoughts become sluggish nonsense, panic becomes muted acceptance of whatever fate Keith chooses for him. A sense of intense calm and serenity washes over him.

Keith loves him and that’s real _freedom_.

And of course, the second Lance begins to grow dizzy, vision blotching around the edges, the collar is loosened and he coughs spastically through the sudden release. Beaming, Keith leans to plant a further kiss of life upon his gasping mouth. Nothing but a taunt. When he pulls off, he commands simply, “Apologize.”

No mercy in his voice. No regret.

Combined with the rough tone he uses, it lights a second fire in the pit of Lance’s stomach, while a large intake of air rattles its way home through his lungs. Fuck, oxygen never tasted so _good_.

The lingering taste of Keith clings to his lips, which Lance swipes his tongue greedily over to fully enjoy the experience. After given a generous moment to collect himself, he manages to come to his senses. They’re fuzzier, but still intact—for the moment.

“I-I’m sorry...” he rasps.

He watches as Keith twirls the riding crop between his fingers, stopping only to tip his chin with the thinner end. Heat flashes in his eyes. Threatening. “You’re sorry, _what_?”

“I’m s-sorry for what I said and how I said it, _Sir_. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I did it anyway,” Lance replies, tongue working around the sandpapery dryness coating his mouth. Words begin flowing from him more tangibly, spilling from hours and hours of practiced obedience. “And thank you for letting me breathe again, Sir.”

Keith often scolds him for being a kiss-up, but he hums approvingly at this, other hand trailing along his side before coming to rest on his cheek. A thumb brushes over Lance's quivering bottom lip. Lance shivers.

Keith gets close enough that their lips are almost touching once more, hold on Lance growing tighter. “Good boy. I didn't fucking ask for your opinion. You'll learn to speak when spoken to, slut. Isn't that right?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Lance affirms this with a shaky, “Yessir.”

The crop prods at his Adam's apple. “Color?”

“Green,” Lance says with conviction, looking up at that sharp gaze through his lashes. “So green. God, _please_.”

“You’re so fucked up,” Keith laughs. It comes out more fond than it should as the deprecation that Lance truly craves, but his cock twitches anyway.

Taking a step back, Keith is quiet for a moment, observing him. Thinking about his next move. The anticipation rises in Lance’s gut, makes him feel squirmy and as always, impatient. He’s not really thinking as he shifts so he can get mild relief, thighs squeezing the base of his cock between his legs.

It’s a momentary relief, because Keith is on him faster than he can allow the pleasure to fully take hold of him. The crop zings through the air and smacks him across the most painful, sensitive area of his backside—right below where his cheeks slope into fleshy thigh.

The sting is imminent. It stiffens his muscles, pitches Lance forward. Swings him weightlessly through the air with the force.

“Ahhh, _fuck_!”

“None of that,” Keith corrects him. “You’ll need to work on getting me hard first, if you want anything to fill you up ever again.”

Frowning, Lance mutters, “But how can I, when my arms are…”

“I know you’ll figure out a way.” Keith smiles. “You’re always so creative when we’re out on the field, coming up with all sorts of strategies. I’m sure you’re more than capable of realizing what you have to do here.”

Considering his words, Lance takes a moment to admire Keith’s figure, standing partially in the shadows of the room. The arms of them reaching out, splaying across his bare, broad chest. He’s still dressed in his jeans, the folds of them deceptive around the crotch. Eyeing his groin, Lance can make out a half-bulge. It’s hard for him to believe that even after so much time without contact, Keith can show this much restraint.

He tries to catch his breath. Nods with understanding and licks his lips. Yeah, he can be strategic. The answer maps itself clear in front of him like a battle plan.

So Lance lifts a foot, drawing a rather unsteady line from Keith’s calf to his inner thigh with his toes flexing in near the bulge. It’s not particularly sexy—he feels sort of foolish. He supposes that’s the point.

It doesn’t take long to work Keith the rest of the way up. Feet aren’t too different from hands, just clumsier and less intuitive about where to land. Whether it’s the humiliation he’s forcing on Lance that he’s getting off on, or the actual stimulation, Lance will probably never know. All he knows is that he’s drooling the second he sees that full length spring to life, as Keith pops open the button of his fly to relieve the pressure.

The rest is a blur. Keith, stripping the rest of the way, giving him a little show as he does it. Disappearing behind him, pushing a lump into Lance’s throat as he spends some time landing a few more punishing smacks with the crop, in which Lance can’t anticipate when they’ll even come.

Time washes together.

The next thing he knows Keith is three fingers deep in him, murmuring sweet things against the heat of his sweating back. Lance discovers that his impatience has turned to relief, into something like peace. They can go slow and that’s fine. They have all the time in the world, with the safety net of so many things already overcome.

But with Keith, he can feel his calculated patience turning into that raw, dangerous energy. Oh, he’s long done with fooling around. Impulsiveness takes hold of him in the fire and form of the man Lance most loves. After such attentiveness to spreading him apart, Keith slips into him easily, drawing a long, pleased sigh from both of them.

As fate would have it, though, there comes an unfortunate knock at the door. A light rapping, neither too insistent nor intrusive, but firm. Lance's eyes widen.

Fuck. They both know that knock all too well.

“Hey, Keith? Are you in there?” The knocking stops. “It's Shiro.”

Keith freezes inside him. Lance can feel how he tenses everywhere, his chest against his back stilling even in exhaling his next breath. With their bodies responding in small ways, they both silently agree on the fact that Shiro has terrible timing.

“You were always prying about why we couldn’t do these things here. Well, this is why,” Keith hisses into his ear, nibbling it. “The calls to attention are endless. But your calls for my attention are, of course, _louder_.”

Keith emphasizes this with a pinch of a nipple. Lance swallows a gasp. All he can manage is to nod without completely losing it. And shake. And hope beyond all hope that Keith can talk his way out of Shiro wanting to come in. There’s nothing between him and Shiro but that fucking door. Nothing at all to shield him from being exposed should that short code be punched in—  

Keith smiles at the fear that must be clear in his eyes. Gives his length a solid jerk, before he calls out, “Yeah, I'm here. But I’m sort of tied up at the moment, Shiro.”

Lance glares into the open space, seething that Keith can’t see how he doesn’t appreciate that jest at all. He clenches around Keith in retaliation, gaining the gratification of Keith pitching over his next words. Something like, “ _What’s the scale of importance?_ ” comes out instead as sort of—garbled chipmunk noises.

Fingers tug at Lance's collar, levering his neck, choking the breath out of him. He's definitely going to pay for that later.

Keith quickly clears his throat to respond more normally. “Sorry. Bad cough. Is it, uh, important on the threat level, Shiro?”

“We’re still on defcon four,” says Shiro, slowly. All business. There’s a pause where both Lance and Keith breathe a sigh of relief, though at the same time, remain tense. Wondering if he noticed anything.

That is, until Shiro continues speaking.

“...but as you know, it’s subject to change at any time. Can I come in? We could debrief first, just you and me. The others get so crazy around here when it’s raised despite the threat level not being a big deal.” He sounds more stressed as he says that, words coming with a muffled sigh. Lance feels a little bit bad about it. “Too much chaos for both of our tastes, right? So it’d be nice to avoid that for once.”

Keith forces Lance's head by his chin so he can look at him. Smirks, thumb hooking into his mouth. Just because he can, Lance briefly sucks on it.

“I dunno. Should we let him in, baby?” Keith whispers, breath washing over his face.

A whimper spills out of him. “N-no,” Lance says in a hushed tone back. “Fuck, no, please. He can’t see me like this. It’s—it’s embarrassing, sir... ”

Lance knows he’s just saying all this to rile him up more. Knows they’re still following a script here. Knows that Keith would never willingly expose someone else like that unless it had been discussed between all parties beforehand. At the very least, if Shiro decided to barge in regardless, Keith would attempt to cover him.

But fuck if the thought—the very _idea_ —itself isn’t hot.

Shiro, walking in, unaware of the depraved things they're up to. Instantly dropping all his papers out of surprise, face burning red. Maybe a little turned on. Maybe a lot embarrassed. Maybe running off before either of them could say a word, but Lance definitely considers what it’d be like if Keith invited him to stay.

And maybe...

Maybe Shiro would sit obediently down, no questions asked. And watch. Or _join in_ , if Keith was feeling in a generous enough mood to let him—

Keith’s voice slices through the thick atmosphere. “Sorry, Shiro. I was just about to get in the shower. I’m really not feeling that great, think I may have eaten some bad rations for lunch. Maybe after I sleep it off?”

“...Of course. That’s fine,” Shiro replies after a beat.

Another pause. The heat of Keith’s dick throbs inside Lance, far past uncomfortable. Edging into downright torturous. If only he would _move_.

Shiro’s tone grows softer. “You sure you’re alright, though? You sound strange. I could send Allura. A lot of people have been getting sick from expired rations lately. It’s an easy fix.”

There’s something about how nice and sweet Shiro is being like his usual self that is making this so, so much worse. This time, Keith outright has to stifle a laugh. Lance guesses he must look positively green in the face. _Great, perfect_ , he wants to snarl at Keith’s amusement. Why don’t they just have all his former crushes come barging in to watch the damn show?

His cock, still wrapped tight within Keith’s grasp, twitches in double the excitement. Even has the audacity to spurt precum that slides between Keith’s fingers. Rubbing the new wetness around the head with his thumb, Keith forgoes that careful restraint and circles his hips, cock sliding the barest inch back. Clearly excited by the whole situation as much as he is. Almost as an afterthought, he claps a hand over Lance’s mouth, though not quite soon enough to cover the low moan Lance can’t help but make at the sudden movement.

There’s no way Shiro didn’t hear _that_.

Nonetheless, Keith relays a few more reassurances, eventually leading to Shiro getting with the program and leaving them alone again. The whole time through their conversation, Keith’s been gently rocking into him. Tiny, restrained motions.

By the time Keith releases him, Lance is on the verge of screaming. Aching and clenching on cock and trying to arch as best as he can to get rewarded with friction in any way possible. Keith, with all his expertise, can barely handle him. Something about that just gets Lance going even more, gets him wondering if that whole thing excited him as much that his grasp on control is slipping, slipping—

“Lance,” Keith says through several curses, tone rough. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn needy, always wanting me to do this to you even when you know everyone around here is gonna find out about it. We have _serious_ reputations on Earth to uphold now, but no, you just want me to slam into your tight, slutty ass until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“You love it,” Lance moans. Gets jerked by the collar again for it. But Keith’s only deluding himself, because he can’t shut him up anymore. He can’t. He’s lost that control, and Lance sure as hell isn’t giving it back.

It’s over for both of them. They’re too far gone.

“You want it, Keith. You want _everyone_ to know. Just admit it. You’re tired of hiding the fucked up things we do to each other. You want them all to know I’m yours so they’ll _back the fuck off already_.”

A hand draws over his abdomen, guiding along his pubic bone to anchor him in place while pointedly avoiding his erection. Keith is adjusting his angle, making an appreciative noise as Lance’s spine bows in line with it.

He’s deep. So deep in him now, and Lance knows he’s hit a serious nerve. He doesn’t bother hiding his grin, but openly flashes it over his shoulder.

Keith won’t deny that he’s grown popular here. He already knows that Lance has many a fanclub. Girls hanging off his arms every day—guys, and everyone in between, too. They saved the fucking universe, the Earth, after all. They’re more than just heroes, or idols. They’ve ascended to _savior status_. Godlike beings, recollected only in parables, in spoken prophecies of legend passed from generation to generation.

Lance has always held a certain type of magnetism around people. Now it’s forever amplified. He could have his pick of whoever he wants, and yet, he still chooses no one but Keith. And they’re—this thing between them, whatever it is, is big enough to tether them weirdly all together like that, in a way.

All the paladins.

But Shiro in particular—

“ _Especially_ Shiro,” Lance chances.

Groaning at the utterance of that name, Keith's hips drive in faster. A complete accident, judging by how he keeps missing his prostate, suddenly drawn off path.

That's exactly the reaction Lance wants. He grits his teeth, biting off a growl at being roughly manhandled. Keith is fucking him so hard and fast all Lance can hear is the sound of the chain clanging, ringing in his ears as he balls his hands into fists, completely lost in the moment.

As soon as Keith gets a hold of a better pace again, Lance doesn't grant him the grace of silence. This is payback for all those times Keith denied him his bed.

“You want Shiro to know so you can have him watch while you fuck me, or fuck us both at the same time. Right? Bet you’d _love_ that, huh. Seeing as you had a crush on him way longer than me.”

Keith doesn’t dignify that with a response. But he doesn’t have to, because he sinks his teeth into the racing pulse at Lance’s neck, dipping low enough to give a brutal grind directly into his prostate. The skin where his pointed teeth clamp down breaks. Lance howls.

“You want Shiro’s dick in your mouth. Feel the weight of it on your tongue. Trust me, I get it.” Tossing his head, Lance turns in time to see the wild flash of heat in Keith’s eyes. “You wanna feel him cum down your throat. Wanna feel what it's like to fuck him like you're fucking me now.”   

And Lance _could_ be bitter about it. Could absolutely be bitter about their close friendship—Keith’s repressed feelings, all those small, private moments between them that Lance isn’t always a part of—and have plenty of reasonable examples to clarify all the ways for why he deserves to be. But he finds that he isn’t. White blinds behind his eyes and the climb up and up into ecstasy is driven by saying these things as much as it’s driving Keith forward into him.

What’s between him and Keith is special. Special enough that nothing could drive a wedge through their devotion for each other. What lies beyond that is, frankly speaking, none of his damn business. That’s the whole point of this arrangement.

Plus, the best part is that this is rendering Keith completely speechless. His grunts and moans are starting to override the brutal sound of their skin slapping. So Lance refuses to stop.

“You _want_ him to find out what kind of nasty things you like doing to me. What kind of nasty things _I_ like doing to _you_. How I bend you over sometimes in Black, get off by using you, and then lick your ass clean without letting you come. Remember that? Who was the slutty one that day?”

Keith reigns his power loosely in. Must be growing tired of hearing him rant, despite the truth that lies there between both of them. He gingerly pulls his length from Lance, leaving him emptier than ever, teasing his rim with his cockhead stretching to the point of madness. “Still you.”

Lance struggles to force his head in place to continue looking at him. Keeping his focus on Keith is making him dizzier, even though he refuses to break contact, because watching his expressions is absolutely priceless. He laughs, “True. Got no problem taking first place for that.”

With a devastatingly attractive smirk, Keith thrusts to the hilt again in one smooth motion. Stays there, sitting inside him, forcing Lance to feel his cock twitching. Moaning, Lance attempts to push with the tips of his toes, trying to leverage and sink his ass further somehow.

Keith is panting raggedly at his ear. Frustrated with the lack of closeness the position provides, he curls both hands on either side of Lance’s thighs, lifting so his legs are off the ground and he’s supporting most of his weight. In less than a second, Lance is wrapping them tight around Keith, keening at the pressure on his prostate, their hips stuttering together without much rhythm anymore. Keith gets sloppy when he’s really far gone. What Lance wouldn’t give to get his hands loose and around his neck.

One more line, Lance knows. Just one more thing he can try and say to push Keith over that edge. The way Keith’s moving, the possessive clutch he has on his hips as he fucks in more and more forcefully. As much as Keith tells him to shut up, he’s well aware of the impact his voice has on him, how a string of dirty words can end with that thick cock splitting him in two.

“But hey?”

Keith’s nails are piercing his skin. Lance is straining to speak, throat raw, tongue too dry. He decides to make use of his impressive upper body strength—Keith groans as he lifts himself—to pull his weight up with the chains, causing part of Keith's length to slip from him. Clenching tightly, he drops onto his cock, bouncing that way a few more times before he begins to tire. As he slows, whimpering softly, Keith reaches around to tug his erection. The room fills with the sound of their fucking. With the sound of Keith stringing praises in his ear.

“Keith, babe, remember, r-remember how we fucked like that in Black when Shiro was—when he was—”

 _Gone_ , Lance means to say. Until he doesn’t. Until realization seems to make its way over them, slowly, at the simultaneous moment orgasm swoops in to try and blur it all away.

It almost works. Almost.

But the realization is stronger. A harder blow. Something they’d never really gotten the proper chance to reflect on before, to examine properly, because they were always being shot at, or their ship was imploding on itself, or the Earth was in desperate need for them to keep it from being blown out of existence—

Here in the quiet aftershocks, it’s painfully, vividly clear.

Keith’s arms curl around his waist, hugging him in tight to his heaving chest. He shudders, head bowing into the dip of his shoulder, nails continuing to pinch his skin. He doesn’t bother pulling out yet, but sets Lance gently down to his original hanging position. He’s probably angry with himself, with their combined stupidity. Or perhaps embarrassed. More than likely, both.

Lance blows out a long breath. Realizes, belatedly, that Keith is actually noiselessly laughing. Lance joins in from the absurdity of it all, from the release that's made all his muscles go lax, head fuzzy and vision dotting with color. He’s dropping into that low, heavy space of nothingness. There’s warm cum trickling down the backs of his thighs, which he’s vaguely aware of. His entire body aches.

Ever attentive to his needs, Keith runs a soothing hand through his hair. Petting his head, he lets his nails drag in a faint scratch as he tells him what a good boy he was. Lance leans into the touch, heaving a satisfied sigh through his mouth. He can’t remember what language is much anymore, or how it works. He can only focus on the singular thought racing through his sex addled brain.

 “When Shiro was…” he slurs thickly.

  _Stuck there,_ drift those stupid unspoken words _._

 Keith steals them from his lips with a quick kiss. “Yeah, I know,” he answers distractedly. “Deep breaths. I’m gonna get the stuff to take you down.”

There’s no point in starting dramatics about it, Lance thinks, breathing in. Counting backwards. He ate out Keith’s ass in Black once, and apparently Shiro watched the whole thing in some disembodied version of his own essence mixed with Black’s. An unintentional audience for a night where Lance recalls not holding back a damn thing as he went to town on pleasuring Keith.

Lance supposes weirder things have happened to them. For Keith, though—he’s not so sure he can brush something like that off as easily.

Finally, Keith edges out, careful not to further irritate the bruises that are surely blossoming across his backside. He steps away from Lance. There’s a moment of silence before Lance hears his boots clacking on the tiled floor behind him, his lithe form still out of view.

Lance pretends not to hear the tell-tale crash.

Like that of a fist, meeting the plaster of a wall.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy last new season of voltron eve!!!!! It’s been an honor being horny with y’all!!! (though i’m not stopping anytime soon lmao)
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://lemonistics.tumblr.com) is crumbling, but hey, now i can also be found on [twitter](http://twitter.com/lemonistics), where i continue to not really do anything but reblog porn and dumb memes


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